


Conditioning

by ashinan



Series: Sleep verse [6]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-17
Updated: 2011-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve implements a strategy after waking up for the nth time on the couch with his back in pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conditioning

**Author's Note:**

> Next installment of the sleep verse for [-lazarus](http://-lazarus.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!

Steve wonders, after waking up once again on the couch with Tony curled against his chest, if Tony has some unforeseen vendetta against beds. Or lying horizontal. Or anything to do with being comfortable, _ever_. Because Steve hasn’t slept in his actual bed in almost three weeks, the indents having smoothed out and his flat pillow looking far too plump for its own good. He hates to admit it, but he _misses_ his bed.

Yawning, he carefully rearranges Tony until he’s lying against the other side of the couch, tucking a pillow into his arms that Tony immediately latches onto, pressing his face tight against the pattern. Steve smiles, passes a hand through Tony’s hair, and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. It may not be comfortable, but at least Tony was sleeping.

Steve pads into the kitchen, scrubbing at his face as he makes his way to the fridge. There’s a half empty bottle of brandy sitting on the counter, an expensive cognac that Steve contemplates for far too long before capping it and stashing it on top of the fridge with the other twelve bottles he’s confiscated. He downs the half full tumbler and places it in the sink, before deciding to focus on breakfast.

“Captain Rogers?”

Jarvis’ voice is jarring and Steve startles, fingers itching toward his shield before he makes the connection. He chuckles, looking up at the ceiling. “Morning, Jarvis.”

“It is currently fifty four degrees Fahrenheit, with a possibility of precipitation later on in the afternoon. Sunrise occurs at seven forty three a.m. Would you like help with breakfast, Captain?” Jarvis asks, his voice much lower than usual.

Smiling, Steve shakes his head. “No, thanks. Can you just keep an eye on Tony? Tell me when he wakes up? I don’t want him sneaking down to the lab again.”

“I always do, Captain.”

Turning back to the cupboard and the ridiculous stove, Steve frowns. A thought, something he had wondered for the past three weeks, wriggles its way to the front. “Hey, Jarvis?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Can you tell me something? Something personal, about Tony? I know he’ll just dance around the issue and I really want to make sure I’m doing things right by him. And he trusts you, loves you even, and I figure you’d be the best person to ask.”

Jarvis is silent, the house suddenly feeling much heavier and darker than before. Steve halts the twitch of his fingers and stands his ground, staring up at the ceiling. Jarvis hesitantly replies, “It is true that he trusts me, Captain. However, depending on the parameters of your inquiry, I am unsure if I am willing to divulge such information, no matter how well Master Stark has become because of your influence in his life.”

Steve mulls it over and nods. “Understandable. Just tell me what I can and cannot ask.”

“That requires more input from you, Captain.”

“Okay, well,” Steve bites his lip. “I was curious if you could tell me his longest lasting relationship? And whether it was considered healthy?”

Jarvis whirs above him. “The first inquiry I cannot answer without ascertaining the meaning of the phrase: a ‘healthy’ relationship.”

“They treated him right. Understood – well, no, not understood because no one can understand Tony Stark even on a good day – but were _understanding_ of his strange quirks and habits. Didn’t try to change him. Looked after him when he went too long without eating. You know, healthy things.” Steve ticked off the points on his fingers, refraining from mentioning all the other items that he had once written up, when he had been sickly and frail, looking for a dame to love him for him and not for his looks. It hadn’t happened.

“Calculations show a percent of seven, Captain.”

Steve blinks. “Wait, what?”

There’s a click and a flicker, and suddenly a holographic screen jumps up in front of Steve, seventeen bar graphs and a complicated line chart shimmering in front of him. Steve reaches forward and carefully swipes his finger along the chart, watching it expand to fill the whole screen.

Jarvis continues, “With the variables you have given me, the ideals of a healthy relationship, and the possibility of that relationship occurring in Master Stark’s lifetime, only three relationships have fulfilled any, if but one, of those requirements.”

Tracing the line at the bottom, Steve frowned at the numbers. “Okay, how far back did you go?”

“Since birth.”

Staring, Steve notes the flat pause around age nineteen, when Steve knows Tony’s parents passed away. But the line before only shows one major bump at age five to eight, before flattening out again; was Howard truly that horrible of a person? And Tony’s mother? Had she been there for him at least?

His eyes catch at the small yellow line, noting the double point around the 2011 mark. “And these?”

“The first was a brief courtship with Miss Pepper Potts. It ended quite suddenly after his initiation into the Avengers team.” Jarvis seems to hesitate, clicking impatiently. “As you have set out the limits of a healthy relationship, and if, in fact, those variables hold true, then the longest relationship Master Stark has had, up to and including this date, is with you.”

Steve feels something in his throat catch and he looks down at the counter, at the smear of brandy that had fallen from Tony’s glass last night. He swipes his finger through it and breathes deep. “So, I’m it then?”

“For now, Captain.”

Steve smiles. “Thank you, Jarvis. Another question. Why doesn’t Tony like sleeping in his room?”

That same stifling silence, as if Jarvis is weighing him, calculating all the possible scenarios that could enact a certain reaction from Steve, blankets the kitchen. The AI is truly something of a masterpiece, incorporating a multitude of Tony’s thoughts, and even some of his personality. Steve tries not to fidget.

“Prior to Master Stark reclaiming the mansion, the bedroom he now sleeps in was where his parents, Maria and Howard Stark, had resided. Master Stark does not enjoy many memories in this house, and less so in a room that was not of his making. This is why he sleeps on the couch.” Jarvis trails off, something distracted in his tone. “Master Stark has awoken. He is thinking to escape to his workshop.”

“Okay, thanks, Jarvis. I might need you later for a possible plan,” Steve says, hurrying back into the living room. Tony is half up on the couch, staring blankly down at the pillow as if it had done some personal wrong to him. He shakes his head, once, twice, the dredges of sleep flashing away as his mind reboots. Steve falls down beside him, still smiling.

“Morning,” he says.

Tony blinks at him, still slightly fuzzy from sleep. “Were you talking to Jarvis?”

There’s warmth prickling the back of his neck and Steve fights to hold back the blush. “Yes. We were having a nice conversation about breakfast.”

“Don’t use Bisquick unless you’re planning on spicing things up with chocolate. Stuff tastes like cardboard if you don’t mix it with something sweet; strawberries are also a good substitute, which reminds me of my moth – and if you _do_ mix it with chocolate, you can use all the Bisquick you want. Though that implies you want to make waffles or pancakes or some strange hybrid of the two and that might not be so successful, so how about French toast and some bacon? _That_ is relatively easy to create and I know the last time you made food it was surprisingly delicious considering your background in the 1940’s,” Tony rambles, gesturing with his pillow. Steve sighs and blocks the oncoming smack to press a neat kiss between Tony’s eyebrows. When he pulls back Tony is staring at him, eyes not quite focused.

Steve frowns. “What?”

“You’re still here.”

Something small cracks inside Steve and he reaches for Tony, pulling and shifting him until he’s leaning against Steve, fingers tap-tapping against Tony’s own. Tony snuggles into him, seeking heat like a cat, and Steve hums into his hair.

“You are ridiculous, did you know that? I know I can’t convince you that I’ll be here forever because, realistically, with the work we do, neither of us may survive today. But I’ll try,” Steve says. Tony freezes, suddenly trying to move away and Steve tightens his hold. “And I realize that freaks you out, makes you nervous, but you don’t have to act surprised every time you wake up and I’m there, okay?”

“As long as I’m still allowed to pretend you aren’t real. Because this?” Tony gestures at Steve, pressing his face further into Steve’s neck. “This can’t possibly happen to me.”

“I’ll eventually convince you I’m very much real. It’s difficult for me, you understand, constantly being told I’m imaginary. It’s destroying my self-image,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to Tony’s temple. Tony leans back, squinting up at him.

“You just made a joke. And it’s far too early for me to truly appreciate it. God, what time _is_ it?”

“Just after five.”

“Are you serious.” Tony blinks. Steve looks up at the ceiling. Tony huffs at him. “You are. Jesus, what is _wrong_ with you. No one in their right mind should wake up this early, my god, just don’t move while I fall back asleep on you.”

 “Tony,” Steve starts, stops, gathers his thoughts. Tony yawns at him. “Tony, wouldn’t you rather fall asleep upstairs? In your bed?”

Tony freezes again, every muscle locking up. Steve watches his eyes shutter closed, that familiar blank look cascading over his face like liquid metal. Tony leers at him, smile sharp. “I thought we were taking things slow, Cap.”

“You are horrible at this deflecting thing, aren’t you?” Steve says, poking Tony in the ribs. Tony squirms, tucking his nose into the hollow of Steve’s throat, muttering nonsense into his skin. Steve gently wrestles him off again and stands up. “Bed, now.”

There’s a split second where Steve actually thinks Tony will listen to him, will take his hand and allow Steve to lead him up the stairs to bed. But then Tony’s gets that look, that ‘I’m-going-to-ignore-you-even-if-you-are-looking-out-for-me’ look, and stands up on his own.

“Guess I’ll go work in the shop. See you later, Cap.”

And Steve watches him go, frowning all the way, and when Tony skirts around the corner, he turns to look at the couch.

“Huh.”

 —

Steve is stripping the couch of all its available pillows and cushions, fighting with the tags that keep the entire thing together. He piles them in the corner and ignores the wide eyed stare Clint is giving him. He salutes at him, gathers up the bundle and trudges upstairs. Depositing his armful in Tony’s bedroom, he returns to the living room and looks around for any other possible cushiony implement.

“Quick question. Why is Cap vandalizing my couch and what did he do with the victims?” Tony says from the doorway. Steve grins at him but chooses not to answer. The experiment won’t work if Tony knows the rules.

Clint snorts. “He’s been prowling around the living room all afternoon. Muttering to that AI of yours. Taking all the couch cushions. Talk to him. He keeps blocking the TV. Don’t ask me, I just live here.”

“Was kind of saying it as a blanket question, really, and I know you do.” Tony peers over the couch, frowning at the springs. “So you should at least have an inkling of what Cap is doing with all my cushions, effectively destroying said couch and ruining my evening schedule.”

“Maybe he’s building a fort,” Clint suggests, raising an eyebrow when Steve shoots him an incredulous look. “Hey, it could be any kind of fort. A sex fort. Or a pillow fort. It could be a Pavlovian experiment designed for a certain insomniac. Who knows.”

Winking, Clint tosses back the rest of his beer. Steve resists the urge to lecture at him and instead stands in front, glaring down. Clint is sitting on the last available cushion, and for his experiment to work, it has to go too. There can be no possible comfortable place for Tony to sleep tonight, save his bed. And it is _just_ for sleep, nothing more. But he’s not allowing himself to think that far ahead. “Clint. Move. I need that.”

“Oh, fuck that. You can’t take the last available cushion. I need it. For watching TV.” Clint gestures wildly at him and Steve, resigned, reaches down and effectively plucks Clint from his place. He gathers up the cushion and turns on his heel. Clint yells after him as he moves toward the stairs.

He knows, _knows,_ Tony’s curiosity will get the better of him. Knows that Tony will follow him up the stairs, into his room, and make note of the pillows. From the information he had gathered from Jarvis, and the history of Pavlov, Skinner, and the different forms of behavioural training, Steve might be able to pull this off. He wanders into Tony’s room and waits, couch cushion propped against his knee.

Sure enough, Tony enters, hands shoved in his pockets and a wary expression on his face. When he sees Steve, he stops, peers around him, and says, “Those are my cushions. Steve, I understand that you’re somewhat possessive, but stealing the cushions from my usual place of work and rest is kind of ridiculous. What are you doing?”

Steve grins at him, moving forward into Tony’s space. “Jarvis showed me some fascinating principles in psychology, mainly about someone named Pavlov. And someone named Skinner. And do you know what both of those people are good at?” Steve hooks his fingers in the loops of Tony’s jeans, dragging him back. “Conditioning. Reinforcement. Punishment.” Steve grins at the hitch in Tony’s breath. “Thought it would be interesting to see if those work.”

“You could’ve just told me that I could come sleep up here; I mean, that _is_ incentive enough and really, the amount of couch cushions you have here now is bordering on insane and I will not be sleeping on them when you are just a few feet away, in a bed.” Tony grins. “So, jokes on you, Cap. You didn’t need to destroy the couch.”

“Conditioning!” Steve laughs. “I’m conditioning you into wanting to stay up here, because this is where your workplace, your place of rest, and, well, myself, are now located. I could bring up the entire couch if it would make you feel better.”

Humming, Tony leans forward. “Or you could think up another reinforcer for keeping me here. I suggest,” Tony tugs on Steve’s belt, “something in this vicinity.”

“You’re ruining my plan,” Steve groans, wrapping his arms loosely around Tony’s waist.

“Good.” Tony pulls away from him, walking around and toward the cushions Steve had thrown haphazardly into the corner. Steve remains where he is, watching Tony rearrange them, wiggling his hips and generally being a tease. Steve grins when Tony flops down on his newly made ‘couch’, but the laugh catches in his throat when Tony leans back, legs spread.

“Let’s see how well you can apply your knowledge, Cap.”

Steve laughs then, leaning down to touch his nose to Tony’s. “That was horrible.”

“Shut up. I don’t work well under pressure, especially not when I’ve _finally_ got you in here willingly.” Tony grumbles, hooking an arm around Steve’s neck and pulling him down. “Now, let’s christen your new couch.”


End file.
